


Fall into Your Arms

by stargazingwriter (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Romance, Smut, Soulmates, Thriller/Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stargazingwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith, infamous hit man under the mobster Bellini, is given the job of watching over his daughter. During their brief time, love blooms and so does the growing disappearances and murders in the city. Can't be too hard for Dean to loose focus when she's flirting, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean and Antony Bellini's Daughter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spin-off to Died in Your Arms, chapters from original will be added in. Eventual build up to smut.

_October 15th, 1947_

The streets of New York were busy as always. Paper boys shouting, women clutching their bags as they walked in packs, and the traffic was unmoving. The door to Red Sun Pawnshop opened up with the ringing of the bell. A small shop located in an overlooked alley. Knickknack and strange objects decorated the tiny room.  
Two men walked in looking around. Not at anything specific, no, someone. The taller one had a mop of brown hair and wore a pin striped suit. His companion was shorter, with sandy blond hair that had been side parted with an overcoat over his suit.  
"Mr. Lovett," the shorter one called out.  
A small man with wirey white hair popped up from behind what must have been a counter.  
"Ah, Mr. Smith. Mr. Weston," the man, Mr. Lovett said. "What can I do for you?"  
"We need to see Antony Bellini," Smith said.  
The color in Mr. Lovett's face drained. He faked a cough before leading the two taller men into the back room. There was a little desk with stacks of paper scattered across it. He opened another door and the other men walked in. The door lead into a hallway of an apartment complex. Light floods in, the beige colored walls look brighter than normal.  
"What's the room again, Sammy?" Mr. Smith asked.  
"Two hundred and five, and it's Samuel," his companion corrected.

They begin their walk up the stairs. The boards creak under them.  
"Are you sure you even want this job, Dean?" Samuel asked. "You don't even know what it is."  
"Hey, when Antony Bellini requests you for a job— you don't say no," Dean shrugged.  
"Besides, we're two hit men and Bellini's the leader of the largest mob in New York City."  
"We work under him, Sammy. How else would we be employed hit men?"  
"Well, I'm telling him I'm out of this when we get there."  
"Good luck."  
The two take a hallway before coming to room 205. Samuel walked in first, Dean giving a nod of encouragement. Of course he'd want to leave. It's fifteen minutes later when he walks back out with a smile and Dean walks in. The room is relatively empty, clean, but the smell of smoke lingers in the room.  
There's little light in the room. In the center of the main room is a desk; the chair behind it turns around. Antony Bellini, a man in his fifties, with short black hair, and wore a black suit. He radiated power and a don't fuck with me attitude.  
"A pleasure to meet you, Dean Smith," Antony smiled. "You've returned from the war I hear."  
"Yes, sir," Dean said.  
"You and Mr. Weston are rather peculiar with your methods."  
"It gets the job done."  
"Mr. Smith, I'm leaving town until November first. The job I'm presenting to you requires your undivided attention, skill, and is very, very important. Are you willing to take it?"  
"Absolutely."  
Bellini opened up a drawer to the desk, lighting a cigar.  
"I need you to protect, watch over, and defend," he started. He let out a puff of air. "My daughter while I'm away."  
"Wait.... daughter?" Dean questioned, surprised. He never heard of his boss having a kid.  
"Yes. It's too dangerous for me to take her with me to London, and I don't trust any of the other men. You? You're one of the best hit men I've encountered, back from the war, and you're relatively young. But more agile I'd assume."  
"I uh understand. Sir."  
"Be aware, if she gets hurt, and you fail protecting her. Well, you can kiss your paycheck goodbye."  
Dean gave a nervous nod.  
"I'm leaving town tonight. It's the top floor, number five of the apartment complex that's a left from fifth avenue and then down a right," Bellini stated. "You protect her, and make sure she's having a good time while I'm away. Do not fail me."  
He waved his hand and Dean walked out of the room. Samuel had since departed. A void seemed to place itself in Dean. The two were almost like brothers— they'd known each other since they were toddlers and were nearly inseparable, despite Dean being older. He looked at his watch, perhaps he'd stop by after dinner.

The apartment complex was much more lavish than the one he'd been in earlier, or his own. Dean took an elevator up to the top floor. He paced in front of the door to number 5. Perhaps it was him being nervous about possibly having a hit on him should he disappoint Bellini. With a breath, he knocked on the door.  
"Doors open," he heard a female voice say from the other side. Shrugging, he opened the door.  
Dean put his coat in the closet, looking around the apartment. Wide, the furniture was mostly brown, and clean. There was a window that stretched across the other side of the room. He sat on one if the chairs waiting for someone to appear. Another hit man, the younger Bellini, the apartment felt too quiet.  
"You're Dean, right?" he heard a voice ask.  
He jumped up, surprised. Turning around, he saw who he assumed to be Bellini's daughter. She had a coppery complexion, with dark hair pulled back halfway, and wore a white button down with a dark blue skirt.  
"Um uh yes, Dean Smith," he said standing up to shake her hand.  
"Rose," she shrugged.  
"Nice name."  
"It's too common for me."  
She dropped the handshake abruptly. She turned into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of some sort of whiskey.  
"Can I offer you a drink?" She offered.  
"Sure, why not?" Dean responded.  
After she poured the glasses, she sat next to him. Dean focused on the glass in his hand, attempting to ignore the brunette next to him.  
"My father said you were in the war," Rose stated.  
"Yeah," Dean shrugged, taking a drink.  
"I was almost served as a nurse. But father wanted me to stay in the states."  
"You wouldn't have wanted to have been there."  
"Better than having to stay here a majority of the week because father doesn't want me to end up like my mother."  
"What happened?"  
Rose put her drink on the coffee table, and laid on the couch with her head in Deans lap.She stared blankly at the ceiling.

"I was seven. Father was being mentored under Capone—" Rose started.  
"Wait, Al Capone?" Dean questioned, surprised. "Like, THE Al Capone?"  
"Yes. Now let me finish— but this was like a year after his arrest. My father had moved us to New York shortly after. But some people he and Capone pissed off, well, they knew about my mother and how much she meant to my father. So one day, he's out, I'm at home with her, and then these men are knocking at the door and she hides me in the closet– I think she knew what was going to happen— the door slams open and I hear gunfire. I'm was under a ton of coats when they opened the closet. They just... left."  
"I'm sorry."  
"It was a long time ago. I don't even think I knew her that well."  
Her fingers laced together with Deans free hand. She grabbed his empty glass, stretching her arm put to put it on the table. After doing so, she lost her balance, almost falling onto the floor before Dean caught her.  
"That was a rush," Rose laughed.  
"You should be more careful," Dean said.  
"There's a spare bedroom if you want to stay here."  
"Thanks but I have a place."

She gave a shrug, and stood up, grabbing the glasses. Dean followed her into the kitchen as she put the glasses in the dishwasher. Looking away from her, his hand found the sink handle. With a smirk, he flicked water onto Rose, laughing. She looked at him annoyed when the front of her shirt was soaking.  
"Seriously, Smith?" Rose snapped. She started undoing the buttons to the shirt furious.  
"Is uh now really the time?" Dean asked, he turned the sink water off trying to not stare at Rose.  
"You're the one who got water on the front of my shirt!"  
With a grimace, she threw the white shirt at Dean. He looked at her irked, before noticing the lacy white bra she wore and the skirt remained on her. A sly grin formed on her face.  
"But these clothes were becoming restricting so I might as well thank you," Rose smiled as she pushed herself up against Dean.  
"Uh you're welcome?" Dean replied.  
She pulled the skirt down, leaving her in her underwear and the pair of heels she'd been wearing. With a shrug, she kicked the clothes away. Rose gave a small laugh upon noticing Deans mouth gaping open.  
"What's funny?" He snapped, breaking out of his daze.  
"Nothing," Rose grinned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.  
"I should... probably go."  
Rose raised an eyebrow as Dean made his way to the door.  
"I'll see you later," Dean said.  
"You should stay next time," Rose said.  
"Maybe I will."

Dean walked back to his apartment he mentally scolded himself for the flirting he'd done with Rose. None of it had been intentional, on his part anyway. The walk was longer than what he had anticipated, but he wasn't going to pay for a cab. His own apartment was tiny, cramped and dark. For a moment, he missed the spaciousness of Roses. In a fit of energy, he shoved numerous clothes into a bag.  
He threw his coat somewhere across the room. Dean flopped onto the twin bed trying to fall asleep. To ignore his thoughts of Rose Bellini. Her smile clouded his thoughts, the way she told him about her mother, her full lips and the slim figure she held as she pranced around him in her underwear. He had managed to restrain himself, somehow. His hands had been dying to touch her, his mouth had watered when he thought of his mouth on hers, of taking her at at that moment. Dean knew he couldn't, after all, she was his boss' daughter.


	2. Little Bloody Horror

_October 16th, 1947_

The following morning, Dean ignored the bag sitting near his bag. There wasn't that desperate of a need to watch over Rose Belllini. Outside of the fact that she was his bosses daughter. That he was given the job of protecting. Damn.  
He went out to the small cafe he and Samuel visited on occasion. The streets weren't too packed at the moment. By the time he arrived at the cafe, he saw Samuel already inside. He was standing at the counter, his fingers laced with the hand of the blond next to him. Dean knew the blonde was Samuels fiancé— Jessica. The two would eventually get married. And Samuel didn't want a damn to do with Bellini once it happened.

Despite how much effort he put into avoiding Rose, he went into a nearby shop and used the phone to call her.  
"Hello?" She questioned on the other side of the line.  
"Rose," Dean responded. "I'm going to be running a little late today."  
"Not a problem."  
"Great, thanks."  
Suddenly the line went dead. Dean gave a huff as he walked out of the shop.

Rose was sprawled out on the couch, listening to the radio. There weren't any reports about the war from the former president to listen to anymore. She wore a thin robe, unwilling to change into actual clothes at this moment. Dean had called, said he'd be running late over. At some point she'd need to look presentable.  
She went into the bathroom, and was halfway done fixing her hair before there was a knock at the door. Perhaps Dean was early. A smile formed on her face before she ran out to the door. Opening it was a figure in a dark overcoat and hat.  
"Rose," he said, his voice raspy and cold.  
"Louis," she responded, her voice cold and disappointed. "What do you want?"  
"I needed to see you."  
"I will get that restraining order I threatened."  
"Why? Because daddy dearest kicked me out of town?"  
"He doesn't want a damn to do with you. Neither do I."  
"I need your help. My uncle—"  
"Should I really give a damn about what your uncle Azazel is up to?"  
"Please Rose! He... he did something to me. And you're smart and I need someone to fix me." "I'm always an object, aren't I?" "  
It's not like that flower! I... I'm craving blood. Human blood and I don't know what to do about it!" "Then get out of my damn city."  
He looked at her, his eyes bloodshot and the irises of his eyes were vivid. His face was gaunt and sharp. The pale color of his skin was a sickly grey color. Rose felt pity for the man. She hadn't known his uncle Azazel well, or if it all, but something was weird and different about Louis. Instead, she slammed the door in his face and locked it. Rose sat at the foot of the door, covering her ears as she listened to Louis beating on the door. Begging her to let him in. To help him. But she didn't have a clue as to what was going on with him.

At some point she must have fallen asleep by the door since she found herself lying across the floor. There was a harsher knocking at the door. She propped herself up on her elbows.  
"Go away!" Rose snapped.  
"Calm down, it's just me," Dean retorted.  
Rose sat up quickly. Her robe was messed up and likely her hair too. She tried pulling it back, a feeble attempt, before opening the door. Dean had his hat in one hand, and Rose found her breath caught.  
"Can I come in?" he asked, irritated.  
"Sure," Rose said, regaining her sense of mind.

The two walked into the living room. Rose put on a record trying to ignore Dean who had taken his coat off behind her. He was just another one of her fathers hit man, she told herself. She couldn't completely engulf herself in the thought of being with someone seriously. 

"Ellington?" Dean asked.  
"Yes," Rose responded. 

She looked down at herself, remembering she was still wearing her robe. Biting her lip, she walked quickly into her bedroom changing into a light dress. Her hair wasn't too hard to readjust. When she came back, Dean was pouring drinks.

"You didn't put anything in mine, did you?" Rose questioned.  
"No," Dean responded, confused by the accusation.  
"Fine. I promise not to pocket anything if you don't try to take advantage of me."  
"Fair enough."

The two sat across from each other as they drank.  
"So who were you screaming at to go away?" Dean asked.  
"Oh, just— no one," Rose responded.  
Judging by the look on her face she was unsettled by the question. Dean didn't believe her but let it slide anyway. 

There was a familiar feeling in the room to the two of them. As if this had happened before. But it hadn't happened. No, surely if it had they'd remember. They glanced at each other every so often as they drank the whiskey.  
Most of the night carried out like this. Neither wanted to really break the moment. A comfortable silence. At some point, Dean positioned himself to sit next to Rose. The now empty glasses rested on the coffee table. A sliver of air was between the two of them. 

Then a scream echoed out from the hallway. 

The two ran into the hallway. A gust of cold air blew through the room from the window at the end. On the floor was a teenage looking girl, her light pink dress stained red. Her arms were at an odd angle as her legs looked as if they had meant to be running. Rose covered her mouth and ran back into her apartment. Dean knocked on the door of the neighbor before following Rose. 

"Are you okay, Rose?" Dean asked, holding her forearm loosely.  
"That... that.... oh my god it was horrible," Rose choked out. "It was Mae. She always wore her hair loose. Never.... I never really talked to her..."

Dean held Rose in his arms as she shivered.


End file.
